Never let it be said my family isn't witty
Preface the one: Brother stays with Mom during the week and heads home to Tennessee on the weekends, where his wife, their kids and the grandbaby (my grandniece) live. Preface the two: Last week, SIL sent Brother back to Mom's house with fresh cookie dough because she didn't have time to actually bake cookies for him. Preface the three: Mom baked cookies Monday. My brother told me, when he saw them, they were his cookies and I wasn't allowed to have any (yes, my brother is a brat. I also knew he was joking but played martyr and moaned and complained that I didn't get any cookies, ever, kick, stomp, fume, pout - well, I am the baby of the family and the favorite. Just ask my elder sibs).
I got to Mom's house last night from martial arts at approximately the same time as my brother. I flopped into one of the chairs with a heavy, heartfelt sigh, which Brother heard in the kitchen. "What's wrong? Chop-socky class not go too well?"
"There are little KIDS in the class who can beat me up. On the good side, I got to kick my boss." I whine. I'm good at whining (as my family will hasten to tell you).
"Aw," Brother says, "you deserve a cookie." He comes into the living room with the canister of cookies Mom made. Then raises it when I reach for one. Then shifts the canister to the right. Then moves it to the left.
*WHINE* "Don't be so mean to me!"
In his Kentucky/Tennessee accent, my brother says, "When you can snatch the cookie from my hand, young Grasshopper...."
...needless to say, Mom and I nearly fell out of our chairs laughing.
I got to Mom's house last night from martial arts at approximately the same time as my brother. I flopped into one of the chairs with a heavy, heartfelt sigh, which Brother heard in the kitchen. "What's wrong? Chop-socky class not go too well?"
"There are little KIDS in the class who can beat me up. On the good side, I got to kick my boss." I whine. I'm good at whining (as my family will hasten to tell you).
"Aw," Brother says, "you deserve a cookie." He comes into the living room with the canister of cookies Mom made. Then raises it when I reach for one. Then shifts the canister to the right. Then moves it to the left.
*WHINE* "Don't be so mean to me!"
In his Kentucky/Tennessee accent, my brother says, "When you can snatch the cookie from my hand, young Grasshopper...."
...needless to say, Mom and I nearly fell out of our chairs laughing.